


Ghostly Visits in the Neighborhood

by LadyLanera



Series: Night [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 15, Character Death Fix, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLanera/pseuds/LadyLanera
Summary: What if the Winchester boys were visited by a certain cardigan-wearing man who was known for his kindness and love of all?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Night [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522865
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	Ghostly Visits in the Neighborhood

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic came to be after watching the movie A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood and an episode of SPN. It got my muse wondering, what if Mr. Rogers came to visit the Winchester boys. Some lines are from the movie. I'll forewarn you now. However, if you've watched the trailers at all, the lines aren't anything new. I grew up on Mr. Rogers so I hope I did him justice. I think the boys could do with a little of his kindness sometimes.
> 
> I suppose you could say this is another part of the Night series I wrote, but you don't necessarily need to have read it to understand. It's set in season 15 but definitely AU. As always, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy.

In the dead of night, the ’67 black Chevy Impala rumbled its fierce V8 engine down a lonesome highway lined with tall, thick lush trees for miles. It hugged each curve of the road perfectly and maneuvered about gracefully. Heavy beads of fat raindrops streaked across its sleek body before they’d fly off and be flung through the air again.

Were they on hour sixteen now or seventeen? The short, spiky light brown-haired man honestly couldn’t recall anymore. It seemed like forever since they had started for home. Another successful hunt to add to their record. Another dead monster that would no longer prey on the innocent. Go Winchesters.

Emerald eyes, dull and glassy, watched the road, trying like hell to avoid the yellow lines that occasionally hypnotized him close to sleep. He tried to remember where they were. Somewhere in Illinois he thought. Or was it Ohio? Or Iowa? Or . . .

They were somewhere. Some deserted road in the middle of nowhere.

When he caught his head bobbing forward again, he scoffed and shook his head vigorously. He used to be able to drive days on end. Or maybe it just seemed like that looking back on it now.

He glanced over at his brother, huffing a quiet laugh when he saw Sam’s head bent forward in sleep. That was going to hurt like a bitch when the man woke up later. He turned back to the road a second later. He’d let the kid sleep a bit more. After all, what was the point in waking him when there was nothing out here for miles?

Though, he would welcome a distraction if one popped up. Hell, he wouldn’t be picky this time. Any sort of distraction would be appreciated. Wendigo. Vampire. Werewolf. A witch even. Demon. Or an angel. He’d take anything at this point.

Like clockwork, his cell rang out loudly to his ringtone for Cas. He rolled his eyes but fished out his phone from his jacket. He noticed Sam sit up straighter beside him, knowing his brother was fully awake now. He smirked and pressed the green button on his phone’s screen to answer.

“For the record,” drawled the green-eyed man into his cell, “that wasn’t a prayer, Sunshine, but I’ll take it.”

 _“Well, for the record, Dean-o,”_ remarked back an amused voice with a loud grin heard in his tone, _“not Cas. I’m the other angel. You know, the cuter one?”_

“Gabriel.” Dean groaned inwardly. Stupid annoying archangels who just wouldn’t stay dead. “What are you doing on Cas’s phone?” His eyes then narrowed. “More importantly, where is he?”

_“What? You think I’d do something to my sweet baby brother? I’m hurt by that. Truly.”_

“Where is he, Gabriel?” he repeated, an edge creeping into his voice.

_“Sleeping.”_

When Sam reached over and plucked the phone from his hand, Dean felt his anger skyrocket. However, it quickly lowered when he watched Sam put Gabriel on speakerphone. Maybe Sam would get something out of the asshole with wings.

“Is he all right?” gently asked the younger Winchester brother.

 _“Sam-of-my-dreams, is that you?”_ The archangel chuckled quietly before he continued, his rare seriousness side taking over. _“Far as I can tell, yes. But Cas has got a bit of a fever—”_

“What?!” the eldest Winchester shouted, drowning out the rest of Gabriel’s words. Cas didn’t get fevers. He was a freakin’ goddamn Angel!

_“It’s fine, Dean. Calm down.”_

“Calm down? Calm DOWN?” he growled. “Cas doesn’t get—”

 _“Well, he’s got one,”_ Gabriel snapped back, _“and I’m dealing with it.”_

Emerald eyes glanced at the road sign that blurred past and clenched his jaw tersely. They were still nine hours away from the bunker by his estimate. He didn’t like this. At all.

“Snap us home.”

_“Uh, yeah, no can do there, big man.”_

“Gabriel, snap us home now!” he demanded, sounding strangely like John Winchester.

 _“Dean, future brother-in-law of mine,”_ replied the sandy-haired archangel with faux sweetness, _“the answer is no. N-O. As in not in a million years am I going to let you near Cas right now.”_

“Listen here, you feathery asshole,” the green-eyed Hunter snarled. “If you don’t—”

 _“Sorry. You’re breaking up.”_ The mischievous angel then made some horrible crackling sound effects that a five-year-old likely could do better. _“I can barely hear . . .”_ The line then cut out.

Growling in pure anger, a hand slammed down against his beautiful Baby’s steering wheel. Dean quickly rubbed the spot he hit and clenched his jaw.

“Get him back.”

Sam sighed heavily but did as his older brother ordered. A second later, though, he pulled Dean’s phone back from his ear and set it down beside him, the screen darkening.

“What?”

“It went straight to voicemail,” the hazel-eyed brother answered with a shrug.

“You’ve got to be—that son of a bitch! I’m going to fucking murder him.” Dean stepped harder onto Baby’s gas pedal. Maybe if he went a little faster than he could . . .

“Or maybe we could trust Gabe?” Sam softly suggested.

“Trust him? Sam—”

“Cas is his brother, Dean.”

“Yeah, and I’m his boyfriend, jackass. What’s your damn point?” His frown deepened when he caught his brother’s wide grin. “What?” He failed to see anything fucking amusing about this. Cas could be dying for all they knew.

“That’s the first time you actually admitted you’re dating him.”

“So?”

“So, that’s a big deal, Dean!” his younger brother exclaimed happily, clapping his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, forgive me for not being all bubbly about that. You know, seeing as how Cas is alone in the bunker—”

“He’s not alone, though,” Sam argued. “He’s got Gabriel.”

“Exactly. What the hell does that jackass know about taking care of—”

“He’s fine, Dean,” his brother replied soothingly.

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that he’s not!” his younger brother shot back. “Just . . . let’s just trust him. Okay? Gabe hasn’t given us a reason not to, has he?”

“You . . .” Dean’s fingers dug deeper into the leather of the steering wheel. He pretended it was Gabriel’s stupid neck he was wringing. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should be in his opinion, but it’d do for now. “I can’t lose him, Sammy. Not now. Not after finally getting to this point.”

“I know,” his brother replied quietly, gently patting his arm. “But let’s just trust Gabe. If he says he’s got it under control, then he’s got it.”

Deep down, he understood what his brother was saying. And he agreed. Gabriel hadn’t given them any reason not to trust him. In fact, after that first meeting—and the second—the archangel had proven himself to be a strong ally in their corner.

However, this was Cas. And Dean couldn’t ignore that fact. This was his Angel, his fierce warrior who didn’t take shit from anyone who threatened the Winchesters. Cas didn’t get sick. And when he did, it was never good.

“We should never have left,” the eldest muttered under his breath, glaring out the windshield.

“You can’t be serious right now.”

“What?” Dean glanced at his brother.

“Do you even hear yourself? We left for a hunt. Because we save people. All of us.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not saving Cas, are we?”

“He doesn’t need saving, though,” countered his brother.

“He _always_ needs saving, Sam!”

Leviathans. Purgatory. His winged dick brothers and sisters. His own damn self sometimes. Dean could go on for days with how many times his angel had bitten off more than he could chew and ended in near death scenarios time after time.

“He’s an angel!”

Dean saw red. The words flew from his lips faster than bullets from his gun.

“Who fell because of me! Who was cut off from Heaven because of me! Who lost his wings because of me! Who’s fucking nearly human now because of me! All because of me!”

Sam’s eyes widened at his brother’s outburst. The words sat heavy in the air. Stifling silence fell around them for a moment before the younger Winchester sighed.

“You didn’t talk to him, did you?” Sam asked with one of his more prominent bitch faces. “That’s what all this is really about.” He scoffed, shaking his head when he was met with silence. “After telling me you’d talk to him, that you’d work it out before we left for this hunt—” His voice cut out before he huffed. “So, you lied. Again.”

“I didn’t lie,” Dean argued, glancing at his brother.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Well, no, but—”

“You lied!”

Dean glanced upwards at the visor and sighed heavily, counting back from fifty. It wouldn’t do a lick of good to get upset with his brother. Not over this. “There wasn’t a good time, Sammy.”

“Yeah, there never is, but you still should have talked about it with him.”

“Why?” He turned towards him. “He’d just tell me everything was fine. Like always.”

“It’s important to talk about your feelings, Dean!”

“Like you do, Mr. freakin’ Rogers?” he shot back sarcastically, raising a brow at his brother.

“Gabriel and I talk regularly, yes, but we’re not talking about my relationship right now.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could even stop himself. “So, you and the winged asshole are dating then?” Figured.

“No. We’re not. We’re just friends. Not that it’s any of your business.” Sam crossed his arms. “Does he like me? Yeah. He does. A lot. But we talk, Dean. You could learn a few things if you did.”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Course you are,” his brother scoffed, stretching out and glancing out the window with a glare. “You always are.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” He then motioned towards a diner they were approaching. “Pull off up here, will you? I need a break.”

Dean clenched his jaw but signaled and pulled off into the gravel lot. As soon as he had the car in park, his brother threw open the door, slamming it shut, before he ran inside the deserted diner. Deep green eyes instantly shot upwards to the roof of the car in annoyance.

Sam just didn’t get it. How many times had they lost Castiel over the years? Each time was worse than the last one. And now that Dean and Cas were together, Dean couldn’t—good things didn’t happen to him. They didn’t. To Sam, yeah, course they did because Dean had sacrificed everything for his little brother. But for Dean, not so much. And he was okay with that.

“Cas, please be okay,” he murmured, closing his eyes slowly. “I need you to be okay.” He then sighed heavily, letting his forehead fall forward to rest against the steering wheel. “Want to give me a sign there or something? My phone’s on. Just please . . . let me know you’re okay. Please?” When he heard a quiet chirp from his phone, he snatched a hold of it and opened the text that had been sent. He shook his head when he saw the photo of Cas sleeping in his bed with the message below it that read, _“See? He’s fine. Like I said. Now, get some pie or something. I’ve got this. If he gets worse, I’ll call. Promise. Gabe.”_

Dean sighed heavily before he shut his screen back off and pocketed his phone again.

“Thank you,” he whispered, slowly opening the car door. “He likes honey and burritos and—” He closed his eyes when he heard the chirp from his phone again. As he walked up to the diner, he pulled his phone back out and glanced at the new message.

_“I know. He was my brother first. Now, stop praying so loudly, will you? It’s giving me a headache, and it’s not doing any good, seeing as how Cas can’t hear you anyway. His Grace is too low right now fighting off this crap. So, do me a favor and let me take care of him while you and Sam focus on your human needs, all right? Trust me. That’s all I’m asking. Trust me, Winchester.”_

Trust. He barely trusted anyone when it came to his own brother. Now, that it was Cas? He shook his head, though, and pushed open the door, stepping inside. He knew he was coming off too whiny, clingy even, but this was Cas. He glanced towards Sam when he saw the freakishly tall man standing at the counter, having ordered something.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he stepped up to his brother’s side.

Sam’s eyes briefly darted to him before he turned back. “Gabe reached out to you then?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s eyes fell to the baked apple pie in the display. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“I know.”

“Something you need, sugar?” asked an older waitress as she walked up to them a moment later, handing a bag over to Sam.

Dean instantly glanced at his brother, realizing he didn’t know what Sam had ordered.

“I got the pie, Dean.”

He forced a smile and nodded. “Nah. I’m good. Thanks,” he said to the waitress who then left. He followed Sam out of the diner a moment later. They were nearly to the Impala when he reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Sam? If you and—if it’s because you’re worried about how I’d react or whatever about you and Gabriel, don’t. As long as you’re happy, I’m good, man.”

His younger brother stared at him for a minute before he smiled softly. “Thanks. But it’s not you, Dean. Trust me.” He opened the car door a minute later and slid inside with the bag of food.

Dean sighed inwardly, relieved to know it wasn’t him who was preventing his brother’s happiness. Not that he thought Gabriel was Sammy’s happiness necessarily. He just— He was rambling again. Thankfully, this time it was in his own head. He headed back to his side of the Impala.

After getting in, he turned the key in the ignition and turned back. Only when he saw that they weren’t alone in Baby, he paused, his mouth dropping in rare fashion as he was momentarily stunned.

“What the hell?”

“Hello,” the kind voice from the backseat greeted friendly.

Numbly, Dean watched his brother whirl around in surprise as well at the voice.

“Who are you?” demanded the green-eyed Winchester, his hand slowly sliding down to his hip where his gun was. He felt weird doing it seeing as who the person looked like, but he needed to be on his guard always.

“Fred Rogers,” the cardigan-wearing older man replied with a polite smile and warm eyes, “but I believe you know that. Don’t you, Dean?”

“How do you know my name?”

The man’s smile grew slightly before he glanced at Sam briefly. “Oh, you’re frequently talked about in Heaven. The angels who’ve visited with me, in fact, have lots to say about you two.”

“Angels are dicks,” Dean replied reflexively. He returned a frown when the man in the backseat gave him a disapproving look. “So, you’re, what, a ghost then?” He suppressed the urge to shudder at the thought of having to salt-and-burn Mr. Rogers. There likely was a special place in Hell for people who even considered that.

“The angel who sent me here,” the man explained slowly “thought you might need some of my insight. Something about you both needing to learn how to express yourselves, I believe? So, he sent me here temporarily in this form as a ghost.”

“Damn it, Gabriel,” muttered the green-eyed Hunter, shaking his head.

“No. That wasn’t his name.”

“What?” Sam and Dean both said in surprise. The whole thing stunk to high Heaven of Gabriel.

“His name—it wasn’t Gabriel.”

“What was it then?” Dean glanced at Sam who looked back equally stunned. Who else was there? It’s not like Cas had left a lot of angels alive up there in Heaven. And the Empty. And Lucifer. And all the ones the Winchesters themselves had killed over the years.

“Balthazar, I believe.”

Their eyes widened.

“What? No.” Dean’s hand fell from his gun as his eyes darted away. “It couldn’t be. He’s dead.”

“Jack,” Sam murmured a second later. “It had to be Jack. Like he did with Gabriel a few months back. He must have found some way to bring him back too.”

“But why Balthazar?” replied Dean with a scoff, entirely forgetting about the ghost in the backseat for a moment.

Nothing about this made sense. The last time they had seen the sarcastic blond British-sounding angel they had sent him to his death. If anything, they’d expect him to be having lavish parties or plotting their deaths or something, not sending Mr. Rogers to them.

“I mean, Cas killed him, Sam. Stabbed him in the back, having been all power-drunk.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You take very good care of your car, don’t you, Dean?” Mr. Rogers asked suddenly. He gave them a gentle smile when the boys glanced at him. “I can see the love you put into this with your attention to detail.”

“Uh, yeah, I mean, I try to,” Dean stumbled out saying.

“Is that because this car was your father’s originally and that he left it to you?”

“Um, maybe, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I never stopped to think about it.”

The cardigan-wearing man nodded slowly. “I find when I stop and think about things, I learn a bit more about myself each time. Maybe you could try it?”

Sam’s hazel eyes darted to him, and Dean shrugged again. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Perhaps you could try it now?” Mr. Rogers urged, giving him an expectant look.

“Now? Uh, yeah, I can’t.” Dean cleared his throat, feeling his mind muddle even more. Maybe this was a Djinn? But why would he want Mr. Rogers here? It would be more likely to be Cas and him driving somewhere with Baby and Sam in the back with Jack and . . .

“Dean!”

“What?” he snapped, glancing at his brother.

Sam jerked his head back towards Mr. Rogers with serious side-eye.

Yeah. Sammy was right. He needed to focus. He couldn’t let his guard down. That was how Hunters died. Green eyes turned back to the kind man.

“I understand, Dean. He told me you’d test me.” Mr. Rogers leaned forward, rolling up his sleeves slightly. “He told me you found trust to be a difficult concept. I trust you, though. You and Sam. So, go ahead. I understand. Though, I’ll let you know now the iron will be the one I’ll fail. But I won’t be here long enough, I think, to become vengeful. Just until Lebanon.”

“Holy shit.”

Dean’s head whipped towards his brother and shook his head sharply at him. He had a feeling swearing in the presence of Mr. Rogers was as bad as, hell, all the stuff they did really. It likely was up there with taking an angel to a brothel. That alone was reason he’d be back in Hell.

“Uh, yeah, um, okay.” Dean swallowed back his shock. He had to approach this like any other . . . Mr. Rogers was in the Impala? Mr. Rogers? As in the children’s guy who Dean would turn on and set Sam in front of sometimes when he was making them lunch? No. No. This was . . . but . . . He glanced at Sam, noticing his brother was stunned as he was. “Sam?” He then glanced towards where his brother kept the demon blade. “Silver first. I’ll, um, I’ll get the holy water.”

“Don’t forget the witch-killing bullets,” Mr. Rogers stated politely “and the—”

Dean practically flung himself out to escape the man’s words, rushing to the back of Baby. He popped open the trunk and swallowed harshly, his head hanging lowly. This could not be happening. He peeked back towards the car hesitantly and watched Sam nod that he had passed the silver test before he pulled out his phone, dialing Jack’s number. When it went straight to voicemail, he sighed heavily, dialing Jody’s number next.

 _“Dean? What’s wrong?”_ answered the Sioux Falls sheriff.

He winced, wondering how she knew. It was like she had a sixth sense or something. “Um, hey, Jody. Is, uh, Jack still there by chance?” He was regretting leaving the kid there, but Jack had said he wanted to spend some time with Claire and the girls.

_“Yes, but that’s not answering my question. What’s wrong?”_

He sighed heavily. She had heard all sorts of crazy shit over the years. Surely this wouldn’t . . .

_“Dean, answer me. What’s wrong?”_

“I think Jack brought back another angel.”

_“What? Who?”_

“Balthazar, but I need him to confirm it.”

_“Okay. Wait. Was that the one who hated the Titanic?”_

“Yeah.” Dean forced an awkward laugh.

_“Cas was close with him, wasn’t he? I thought I remember Gabriel saying they were close.”_

“Yeah, it’s not that he’s back that’s the—” He then paused as it hit him that she could be literally anywhere right now. “Jody, are you alone?”

_“As alone as I can be these days, yeah. Donna’s here too. Why?”_

“I think Balthazar snuck someone out of Heaven.”

_“And . . .? Who is it?”_

His head fell all the way forward before he murmured, “Mr. Rogers.” He closed his eyes when he heard the phone clatter to the ground over the line. He could expect that. He’d probably do the same.

_“I’m sorry. Did you just say you have Mr. Rogers with you?”_

“Yeah. Maybe. I—Jodes, I really need to talk to the kid. Please.” He glanced at the iron rod and shuddered inwardly.

 _“All right. Donna’s going to get him.”_ She then sighed softly. _“What’s he like?”_

“Who?”

_“Mr. Rogers.”_

“I don’t know. He’s, well, nice, I guess?” Dean shrugged. The uncomfortableness of the whole thing got him talking more than usual. “He asked me why I take such good care of Baby.”

_“Oh.”_

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

_“Here’s Jack.”_

A familiar, almost but not quite innocent voice spoke next. _“Dean?”_

“Hey, kid. Um, did you happen to resurrect another angel by chance?” When he heard the deafening silence in response, he nodded. All right then. So it was the kid who brought back Balthazar. “I’m not mad. I just . . . I need to know.”

_“Uncle Gabe and Dad were missing him. I thought it might help them. I’m sorry.”_

“No. It’s . . . it’s cool, Jack. I just needed to know if you brought him back.” Just so he could wrap his head around that the angel they had literally sent to his death was back alive again.

_“Is he there with you then? Dad said he was always the life of the party. I thought it’d cheer him up then maybe.”_

“Um, no. Balthazar’s not here.” Dean winced, sighing heavily as he envisioned a sick Cas waking up from a nap to his long-lost dead brother. Maybe they’d warn Gabriel next. “Can you, um, not resurrect any more angels without letting us know beforehand, though? Or, you know, talk to us about it first?” Just so the kid didn’t resurrect the wrong angel by mistake.

 _“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help,”_ Jack replied miserably, reminding Dean of all the times Cas had apologized over the years for trying to do something well-intended (as Jack was now) and having it blow up in his face. God, he was such a dick to Cas sometimes.

“I know you were. It’s fine.” He sighed inwardly, closing his eyes. He should have been this kind to Cas all those years instead of reacting as horribly as he had. Stupid regrets. “Your dad would have likely done the same if he could I’m sure.” Hell, Cas would have done anything to bring some of the angels back if he could.

 _“Really?”_ Jack sounded so hopeful it caused Dean to glance upwards. There was so much of Cas in the kid. It was rather easy sometimes to forget Lucifer was Jack’s biological father.

“He would.” He then glanced around the trunk and sighed softly when he caught Mr. Rogers’s eyes. “Jack, I’m going to have to let you go, but you be good for Jody and Donna, all right?”

_“I will.”_

“Good. We’ll see you in a few days then.” He ended the call a few seconds later. His fingers quickly scrolled through his contacts, searching for Gabriel’s burner phone number. Only when he heard Sammy’s car door open, he glanced at his brother.

“Don’t bother,” Sam remarked with a thin frown, pocketing his own phone again. “Gabe just called. He confirmed Balthazar is at the bunker with them.”

Dean winced inwardly before he nodded. “And?”

“And Cas is still sleeping so he doesn’t know.” He then motioned towards the backseat. “So?”

Forest green eyes hesitantly darted to the red cardigan-wearing man who was patiently waiting for them. He almost wished the ghost was evil so they could banish it. It sounded like a better way of spending time than heading back to Lebanon with Mr. Rogers’s ghost at least. Though, that wasn’t fair. The ghost hadn’t necessarily acted anything but the way the late children’s show host would—kind, understanding, touchy-feely. And that was what was the most unsettling part of it.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” He glanced back at his brother, swallowing as he raked his teeth over his bottom lip.

“Are we going to head back to the bunker or not?”

He was inclined to say no. Really. He was. Being cooped up in a car for nine hours with a ghost who was all about getting you in touch with your feelings? Yeah, that sounded worse than being on the rack in Hell. But Cas needed him, especially now that the angel was sick.

“It’s Mister Rogers, Dean, not—”

“Yeah, I know that, Sammy,” he retorted sharply. That was why he was so rattled by this whole thing. The man who— He sighed heavily and shook his head. He was being stupid. It was only Mister Rogers. If it was too bad, he could always— When he caught the sharp stern look from the ghost, he winced, hanging his head.

Leviathans—black gooey monsters who ripped you apart as their massive head of teeth ate you.

Lucifer—dick archangel who loved to torture you or in most cases snapped his fingers to rip you apart at the molecules.

Billie—nice Reaper later promoted to Death who reminded you constantly of the rules and ‘cosmic consequences’ that would always bite you in the ass.

Dad—well, there wasn’t enough time in the world to delve into that one.

Mister Rogers—children’s tv host who preached kindness, promoted love, taught you to recognize your feelings and not fight them or ignore them.

It was Mister freakin’ Rogers who—

“Dean!” Sam shouted, yanking him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut your cakehole, bitch!” Dean growled back, shutting the trunk and heading back to his seat. He slid back in, closing his door. He turned around to face the cardigan ghost. “All right. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to have some ground rules, okay?” He ignored his brother’s look of disbelief.

“Of course, Dean,” Mr. Rogers replied with a faint smile. “I know how difficult it—”

“No. No you don’t. You don’t have a damn clue,” he shot back with a deep frown.

The ghost inclined his head slowly. “You’re right. I don’t. But I hope you’ll trust me enough to help you.” He then glanced at Sam. “Both of you.”

Both of you. Dean repeated the words in his head, feeling his insides loosen slightly. It wasn’t just him who would have to open himself up. Sam was supposed to partake too. He couldn’t deny that was a little easier to swallow. Sort of.

“I don’t mean anything by it,” argued his brother. “I really don’t. I just . . .”

“You wonder if a car ride home is enough time.” Mr. Rogers laughed softly before he shrugged. “We’ll never know if we don’t try. And if we don’t try, we will always be here in this moment, wondering the what-ifs. You see, our mind is a powerful thing. It has the ability to convince us of things. To rationalize and not overcome our fears because it could make things worse. Your father—when he taught you about monsters, you were scared at first, weren’t you? Hearing of Wendigos? That vampires were real? I can’t imagine how terrified you must have been back then.”

“He was trying to train us, though,” Dean stated quietly. “Prepare us for the world. And ultimately keep us safe from the thing that killed Mom.”

Mr. Rogers nodded slowly. “He must have been so sad to have lost her. I was told they loved each other very deeply. In fact, I believe they share a Heaven together now, don’t they?”

“Yeah. Cas said they do.”

“That’s very kind of Castiel to let you know about your parents. To give you a sense of peace, knowing they’re together. Not a lot of people get that in life.”

“Yeah, Cas has—wait.” Dean’s eyes narrowed as his mind came to a screeching halt. “How do you know his full name?” He was certain he hadn’t said it. In fact, he rarely said Cas’s full name anymore. He glanced towards Sam, noticing his brother’s suspicious look too. As they waited for the answer, he found himself thinking more on how all-knowing Rogers was sounding. It seemed . . . Ghosts might know enough, sure, but that was beyond the usual ghost knowledge.

“I told you, Dean. The angels who visit me have spoken about you two. One angel in particular has spoken to me a few times wanting to understand humans better and their emotions.” Rogers smiled warmly at them. “He finds himself confused somedays by his wards you see. Sometimes it is because he doesn’t understand why you reacted the way you did. Other times it’s because he feels as if something is bothering you, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He speaks very highly of you both during our talks. Castiel is very fond of you, but I think you know this.”

“Cas has spoken to you?”

“He has. Not lately I’ll admit, but he has sat with me a few times in my Heaven. Most of the time, he watches Daniel silently. He’s much more difficult to open up than his brother Gabriel.”

“You spoke with Gabriel?” Sam asked, glancing at Mr. Rogers in surprise.

“Once. Long ago,” replied the ghost. “I think it’s why Balthazar was drawn to me. Because he felt their presence lingering around me.” He chuckled quietly. “For being angels, those three do show their humanity the most. Their capacity to love, to adapt, to forgive.”

Memories flashed behind Dean’s eyes of all the times Cas had sacrificed himself for them. He suppressed a smile when he recalled Cas’s first time pretending to be an FBI agent. The damn fool had flashed his badge upside down like a freaking rookie, but it had been so Cas, so innocent. How many times had that angel forgiven him? Too many to count if he were honest. He never should have forgiven him for the whole Mark of Cain debacle in his opinion. Not after hurting him like he had. Not after beating him so badly and almost killing him with his own blade. How the hell could that angel forgive so easily after that?

“Were there any other angels who would talk to you?” inquired Sam a moment later.

“No. Only those three. Castiel being the one who’s talked to me the most.”

Dean stared at the man silently, reeling from the admission. Cas had spoken to Mister Rogers about them? Not just once but multiple times? He supposed it was possible. His eyes fell back down guiltily. It wasn’t as if Dean had ever asked Cas about his trips up to Heaven. In fact, he usually just left the angel alone whenever he’d return, assuming Cas would tell him if something was bothering him. They were best friends after all, and best friends talked to one another. Though, clearly, the angel found it easier to talk with Rogers than him, it seemed. He sighed heavily.

“Dean?”

Green eyes fluttered upwards.

Mister Rogers patiently held his gaze with a kind smile.

It unnerved Dean greatly. What was he waiting for here exactly? For a breakdown? Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Or did he think that by being silent, Dean would just word-vomit everything all over the Impala? Because that wasn’t likely either. However, the longer the silence drew on, the more he felt his resolve start to crumble.

Damn it! What was it about that damn man in that stupid cardigan that made everyone want to spill their innermost thoughts to him? Dean didn’t ever want to let anyone in. Ever. Cas and Sam were the closest . . . and Bobby . . . and Jody sometimes. But it was Cas whom he revealed—

Cas was the one who knew him better than he knew himself most days, and he knew it was partly because of their bond and mostly because of those damn honest baby blues that saw the good and the bad, the Heaven and the Hell of his wrecked soul.

Bright green eyes darted back to the windshield as he turned around, trying to escape the man’s look. They didn’t have time for this. It was stupid. Meaningless. It wouldn’t change anything. Not now. He just needed to drive, to get to Cas and ignore all about the ghost of Mister Rogers.

“How do you do it?”

Dean’s eyes darted to his brother when he heard Sam’s question.

“Do what?” Mr. Rogers replied slowly.

“See through people, past the masks they wear. Help people like us?”

“Like you?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing as he glanced towards the younger Winchester. “Oh, Sam. There is no one in the entire universe just like you and your brother. You both are very unique and special. I would imagine your angels have told you that as well.”

“Yeah, well, I could do without being the meatsuit for Michael,” Dean scoffed.

“That’s not why you’re special, Dean. Nor is it the reason your brother is.”

He turned back around and shook his head. “Listen. I don’t know if the angels told you this or not. I’d bet not because it’s sort of a sore subject with them. But God—Chuck—he’s a selfish, arrogant dick who gets bored with his creations and throws us all away when we don’t suit him. Just so he can rebuild another universe and do the same thing again. So, you know, that whole garbage of how we’re special—yeah, sure we are, because we’re his favorite little toys he can break again and again. We got that. He already told us that. Threw it repeatedly in our face in fact.”

The ghost stared back at them silent for a moment. He seemed to be contemplating his next words, working out what to say to them. Though, what could he say really? It was the truth, and in their case, the truth fucking sucked.

“It’s difficult to understand when someone hurts you. You hold onto your anger to shield you from the pain their words cause because it’s easier to suppress the hurt.”

Dean blinked.

Sam sat up straighter, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Do you know what I do, though? When someone hurts me?”

“Talk about it to death?” muttered Dean, glaring at his brother when Sam smacked his arm.

“Talking is important, though,” stated Mr. Rogers, brushing off his attempt at humor. “When you keep everything inside, all your emotions, all your feelings, it eventually pops. You have to release it. No one can keep everything bottled up forever.”

“You haven’t met Dean obviously,” Sam replied dryly. “He and Denial are best friends.

“Oh, and like you’re any better there, Samantha,” shot back the older Winchester. “Mister-Lets-Contemplate-Every-Damn-Thing-We’re-Feeling-And-Reflect-On-It!”

“You heard him! It’s important to talk about things, Dean!”

“I talk about things!”

“Oh, really? Remind me. How long did it take you to finally admit to yourself that you were in love with Cas? Hmm?”

Dean scoffed, throwing Baby into reverse before he backed up and shifted her back into drive. He stepped into the gas a bit harder than he had meant to, but he needed to get them away from the diner. The look they were getting from the older waitress from before sort of concerned him. All he needed was someone to find out that Mister Rogers was in Baby’s backseat with them.

“That was different, Sam, and you know it,” he remarked the second Baby’s tires met the road.

“How? Everyone knew it! It wasn’t like you two exactly hid the whole eye-sex from all of us.”

“Oh, come on! For the last time, we don’t—”

“You stare at him for minutes that stretch on way longer than necessary, Dean! And it’s like the rest of us don’t even exist. That’s the textbook definition of eye-fucking!” Sam then slowly turned around. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Rogers?”

“Leave him out of this!”

“No! He’s here to help us. So, let’s be real for one damn time. It’s not like we always get a chance like this. So, let’s take advantage of it. God knows you and I have issues.”

“Yeah, but do we really need to bring that up to him? Really, Sam?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s Mister Rogers, dumbass! I used to sit you down in front of the tv to watch his show because it was the one damn thing that wasn’t going to turn you into me!”

Emerald eyes darted to the nearest thing instantly. There it was. Words he couldn’t take back, couldn’t explain away. He never wanted Sammy to become like him. Yet, wasn’t that what happened?

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dean grunted, his fingers curling around his steering wheel.

“No. What do you mean, ‘So I didn’t turn into you?”

“Nothing, Sam. Forget it.”

“Like hell I will!”

Clenching his jaw, he kept his focus on the road. If Chuck decided to swallow them whole right then, he might be okay with it. At least at first that was. He’d regret hoping for it later. Probably.

“Dean?” the calm voice spoke from the back.

His fingers tapped lightly against the wheel, trying to ignore it again. If he didn’t say anything else, he’d be fine. They’d get through this. Like always. Eventually, Sam would forget and move on.

“You and your brother have a very strong bond, Dean.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. Nice try, Mister Rogers. He wasn’t going to break that easy.

“But it’s stronger than that, isn’t it? Closer?”

Dean could hear the frown of disappointment in the man’s voice.

“Castiel told me you had a complicated relationship with your father.”

Complicated? Yeah, it wasn’t complicated. Dad saw only Yellow Eyes and killing it. Everything else, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. When it was over, then they’d be a family again. Not a second before. John had drilled that into his eldest. Protect Sammy was the second commandment he was expected to obey at all times. Protect Sammy.

“If you mean Dad wasn’t all warm with us and dropped us off more times than not, yeah, sure. You could say that,” Dean replied bitterly a few moments later. “But he loved us. In his own way.”

“Sometimes the adults we love—”

“No,” interrupted the eldest Winchester, shaking his head. “No. Don’t feed us that piece of crap. Please? Dad lost Mom, and she was his whole world. When she died, he shattered.” He drew in a slow breath, trying to stave off the memories of happier times of what seemed to be a different life, someone else’s. “It was happy before, really happy and good. And then it wasn’t.” He licked his lips as he heard bits and pieces of his father’s words, commands, echo in his mind. “He had to—I don’t know—toughen us up for the real world, the one most people thankfully never have to see. He prepared us for this. But don’t say that crap about how adults sometimes don’t know how to fix things, how to heal it all after traumatic shit. Because we have a kid now—well, two if we’re honest, and we don’t act like that. And we’ve seen some pretty messed up shit over the years, went through some tough times where people we loved were just gone.”

Dean’s gut clenched. They had lost so many over the years. One would think a person would become numb to the losses they suffered, but they didn’t. It only hurt more and more.

“Maybe before Mom’s death he could try to fix stuff, be a dad in other words, but he had his whole way of thinking obliterated with Yellow Eyes. He saw past the illusion everyone else gets to have—and that’s okay. Sam and I—it may not have been the best way to grow up, best environment and all that nurture vs nature crap, but it led us to this. We save people, Mr. Rogers. That’s what Sammy and I do. We save people.”

Mr. Rogers nodded slowly before his fingers ran over his jaw for a moment in thought. His eyes softened, almost in an understanding way.

“It must get rather tiring sometimes, though.”

“Is it for you?” Dean retorted. “I mean, you save people too. Just in a different way.” At least that was always what he thought when he’d watch it with Sam. He watched the man’s eyes hold his gaze in the rearview for a minute before Mr. Rogers smiled softly. He continued on when the man didn’t say anything. “You preach we’re to love one another, to embrace our differences, to be kind to one another, to love one’s self. We just—well, we hack off vampire’s heads to save a cheerleader’s life. You’re about the mental and emotional health, and we’re about the physical.”

“Oh, I don’t consider myself much of a hero, though.” He chuckled quietly. “I’m merely a man.”

“Yeah, so are we.” Dean sighed quietly when he caught Rogers’s head bowing. This talk wasn’t going to go anywhere. He had a feeling of that. It’d just go around in circles, and he didn’t feel like enduring that. So, he cleared his throat and redirected their conversation to something he had been wondering for a bit now. “So, how much did Cas tell you exactly? Or, hell, Balthazar for that matter?” The man’s head tilted slightly. Dean felt his insides twist slightly as the terrible thought that had been plaguing his mind prodded him again. Had Cas told Mr. Rogers? No. That was—no. The angel wouldn’t have. He was annoyingly optimistic when it came to Dean. But what if— No! Not now. And yet Dean couldn’t help himself. This was Mister Rogers after all. The man who didn’t judge. The man who accepted you broken as you were and loved you just the way you were. “Did they tell you how neither one of us can really manage to have a stable relationship with anyone?” He swallowed back his tremble as he ripped off his emotional bandage. “Because in the end we always fuck it up somehow?”

“Dean!”

“No, Sam,” he replied semi-calmly, briefly glancing at the taller man beside him. “You’re right.” He lightly shrugged, trying to ignore the further twisting of his insides. “When else are we going to get this chance?” Never that was when. “You wanted to take advantage. Here’s me taking advantage of it. Because . . .” His voice cracked as the thought from before flickered with life again. “Because . . .”

Damn it! Why couldn’t he get the stupid words out?

He closed his eyes for half a second.

Because if he said them out loud, then he knew they’d be out there floating about for everyone to hear, to know, to think. And if those words ever got back to Cas . . .

He drew in a shaky breath, reopening his eyes. His fingers curled tighter around the cool leather underneath his hands.

He’d leave. Cas would surely leave. He usually did after all.

But then that dorky angel of his would come back. Eventually. Or at least he had so far that was.

So, maybe it wasn’t as terrifying as Dean thought it’d be. But then again—

“Ugh!” groaned the green-eyed man frustratedly. His mind was going in circles again. “I can’t—they won’t come out. It’s just . . . right there.” He slapped his hand against the steering wheel, glaring out the windshield at the road. “I want to. I do.” Why was he babbling on like this? This was not how Winchester men acted. They compartmentalized and did the job no matter what. When they were alone, behind closed doors, then they could become weak and pathetic like he was being.

“Dean,” Sam softly murmured next to him. His lips pinched together briefly for a moment before he sighed. “Dad’s not here. It’s just me and Baby and Mr. Rogers’s ghost. You don’t—it’s okay.”

“No, Sammy. It’s not,” he replied with a huffed, bitter laugh. “We . . . I thought you’d be okay at least. I did.” He had tried to be a good brother to him. He had even given him that whole speech about emotions and shit. He didn’t want Sam to be like him. He really didn’t. He wanted Sam to have healthy relationships, to love and be loved and all that good crap. “I tried my best. I did.”

“I know you did.” Hazel eyes softened as Sam shook his head somberly. “But it shouldn’t have been your job to raise me.”

“Who else was going to? Huh?” he shot back. “Not like Dad was around much.” Or at all.

“You were a kid too, Dean.”

“So? Like that mattered.” If he hadn’t stepped up, who knew where the brothers would be? He had to. It wasn’t a question. It _never_ was a question in his mind. “You—it went into _your_ room that night. Yours.” His fingers curled even tighter, his knuckles whitening. The emotions he kept deep down in the darkest depths of his soul threatened to bubble up. He could hold it back, though. It couldn’t be harder than casting out a batshit crazy archangel bent on killing all of mankind after all, and he had managed to do that somehow. “Knowing what we know now, sure, yeah, but that’s hindsight. I—” His voice cut out unexpectedly again, forcing him to draw in another deep breath and try again. He could feel his body tremble slightly. His breathing turned shaky. “I lost Mom.” The wound was still raw there, opening again for all to see. “I lost Dad.” Another wound reopened. One that he had thought he had cauterized long ago. “I-I can’t lose my brother too!” He could feel the stinging in his eyes and tried to blink the tears back as quickly as he could.

Everyone left him one way or another. It was destiny . . . or shitty luck. One could take their pick of which it was. It all ended the same, though. Him being alone.

“Chuck wrote the perfect heartbreaking tragedy for us, didn’t he?”

Was that what this was? To Dean, it just felt like his heart getting ripped out repeatedly, only to be shoved back in for another round of torture. His scars had scars on top of scars.

“But we don’t have to let him keep controlling our lives like this.” Sam waited until his brother glanced at him before he turned back to the road. “We can fight back. We can choose to alter our paths. To embrace the people in our lives who love us.”

Dean shook his head, though. That sounded like something Cas would say.

“I mean, you’ve already taken the first step, you know?”

“What?” Emerald eyes darted to his brother.

“You’re dating Cas, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

So what if he and Cas were dating now? It’d end. The odds were pretty high on that. He’d say something and, boom, there would go the best thing in his life. Again. Or Chuck would ruin it somehow. Whatever. Something would happen. It always did. Good things didn’t happen to Dean Winchester. His big wins always came at a price. He just was choosing to be happy for a bit before it all came to a screeching halt like always.

“You could’ve kept him at arm’s length,” Sam explained, “like you were doing. Protecting yourself in other words. But you didn’t. You came back after leaving that night, and you and Cas talked. Dean, you _talked_ to him. You actually opened yourself up to him. And that went pretty well, didn’t it?”

“Only because fucking Gabriel locked us in together,” grumbled Dean. He still wasn’t entirely over that whole thing if he were honest. But he supposed that was more to do with everyone having watched it on a freakin’ tv of all the damn things like it was the hottest damn thing on.

“You were talking to him long before I shut that door,” Sam countered. “But you’ve been talking to him more, though. Don’t say you haven’t. I know you have. And I’m happy for you. I am. You deserve—”

Dean flinched, his eyes darting away.

There was that stupid word again.

He hated that word.

“Dean?”

The Impala jerked to the side as Dean carefully steered her to the shoulder, pressing the brake down hard. He needed to get out. To take a walk. To get away from this conversation. However, the minute the Impala came to a stop and he threw her into park, he found himself rooted to his seat.

“You don’t like that word, do you, Dean?” asked Mr. Rogers calmly behind him.

He shrugged, pulling his jacket closer to him protectively.

“It is a rather strong word.” The man nodded slowly in thought.

“It’s not that,” Dean replied with another listless shrug. He could feel Sammy’s eyes on him, but he tried his best to ignore it for now. After all, it wasn’t like his brother didn’t know how fucked up he really was, was it? His eyes fell back to the dashboard, his lips pursing.

Where would he even begin? At the start? No, that had to be too far back. Maybe when he realized what a screw-up he was? That seemed logical. Or maybe when he recognized the patterns.

Closing his eyes, he drew in a slow breath, feeling it expand his lungs. Sam was right after all. He did feel better after opening himself up. Eventually. It was like confessing one’s sins or something. Lessening his burden or something. He couldn’t explain it.

“You’ve met all sorts of people,” Dean began, wincing at how stupid it sounded.

“I have,” Mr. Rogers agreed. “And each person I’ve met had their own unique perspective, their own specialness.”

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Dean turned around in his seat as best as he could without going the full turn. He caught Rogers’s warm gaze and friendly look. He swallowed back his nerves and glanced down again before he forced his eyes back up to meet the man’s eyes.

“Sammy and me—we were all we had back then. Dad would drop us off at Bobby’s house or some other Hunter’s place for days, sometimes weeks on end. No notice really. We just were expected to drop everything and follow his orders.” Obey.

Green eyes fell back to the seat. He silently picked at a frayed loose piece of thread that was sticking up as he let the silence settle in. This part was easy to say. Not to random strangers of course, but he had told Cas this much at least.

“Dad was obsessed with killing the thing that murdered Mom. He used to say he was staying away from us to keep us safe. I was probably around ten or so when I realized that was just a load of shit. He couldn’t stand to be near us, I think. And that was okay.”

It was more than okay really. After awhile, Dean found himself enjoying these moments when their dad wasn’t around. Not the times when he had to find Sammy and him food because the asshole hadn’t left money for them that time, but the other times, when they could just hang out in another sleazebag motel in some nameless town. Or when they were at Bobby’s. He really enjoyed being at Bobby’s. That was the one place where they could just be kids, Sam and him.

“When Dad was around us, he’d bark orders at us.” Dean scoffed, a hand running through his hair messing it up. He could still hear those words clear as day. The words fell from his lips, reciting them verbatim. “Don’t touch that!’ ‘You think a werewolf is going stop just because you’re crying?’ ‘Damn it, Dean! You’re going to get your brother killed! Why don’t you fucking use your head?” He scoffed, glancing upwards and exhaling all the tension that had gathered in his frame. “It’d go on from there. I’m sure you can gather the rest, so I’ll spare you all the loving things he’d say.”

“That must have been very upsetting. To hear your father’s words.”

Dean nodded slowly. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

“Yeah. I tried everything to be the good son for him, though. The good soldier he was training me to be. Only it wasn’t enough, and I don’t think anything I ever did would have been. I mean, we had this pearl thing once that gave you whatever you really desired or some such crap. But who knows? We were messing with things we didn’t know, so who knew if that was even Dad. It wasn’t Cas after all.”

“Oh my.”

Feeling Sam’s hand rest against his forearm, he glanced at his brother, brushing off Mr. Rogers’s words. Sammy got it. Hell, he lived through it with Dean.

“I’m not saying the old man didn’t love us. He did. And there’d be times, good ones, when he’d be Dad again, but then something would happen, and he’d just—” He threw his hands up and paused. “We lost both of our parents the night Azazel showed up. So, after that, all we had was each other.”

A four-year-old and a newborn.

“And all I could think about after that was how I had to stay strong for my baby brother. How I couldn’t be weak in front of him. Ever. Even now I can’t. Because if I stayed strong, then it’d be okay. Everything would be okay.”

He turned away when he caught Sam’s eyes widening.

“So, I kept it in. Tried to do what Dad did and pushed all of it away. Do the job. Protect Sammy. Keep him safe. No matter what. And I have for all his life.” He shook his head with another inward sigh. “I don’t know when it was. I think it was a case out in Pennsylvania, though, but Dad left us in some nameless town again, hunting some other monster of the week. Sammy wasn’t feeling well that day, so I got him some soup or something.”

“Chicken noodle,” Sam quietly supplied, recalling that memory too. “You crawled up into bed with me and asked me what I wanted to watch.”

That sounded about right.

“I was flipping through the channels, and I stopped on your show. There were puppets or something, maybe a lion. I don’t know.”

“Daniel Striped Tiger,” Mr. Rogers stated with a gentle smile.

“Yeah, that one. I glanced at Sam and thought what the hell. It wasn’t werewolves or vampires or anything that was going to scar him like me, so why not? And it sounded sort of fun too.” He ran his tongue over his teeth as he tried to recall more about that moment. It was so long ago, though. “I don’t remember what the theme was.” And it didn’t really matter. Each one of the episodes, few as they were, that the boys watched applied to their lives somehow, helping them make sense of the ever-confusing world they lived in. “But I just remember the puppet—Daniel I guess—talking about how sometimes he felt lonely. That he felt like he drove people away.”

Dean could feel the sting in his eyes again as he recalled the moment flicking in his mind. He sharply inhaled and brushed his cheek at a stray tear that had fallen. He tried to make it as natural as he could, but inside he was rolling with emotions.

“And do you feel like that sometimes, Dean?” asked Mr. Rogers quietly.

“No.” Deep green eyes met the non-judgmental bluish-hazel eyes of the Pittsburgh children’s host’s ghost. “I _always_ feel like that.” His voice quivered slightly but he trudged on. “Because it’s true. I eventually push everyone away. They all leave.”

“But Castiel is still with you,” pointed out the ghost kindly, his eyes darting to Sam with a sharp look when the taller man moved to comfort his brother likely.

“Yeah. For now.” Dean used the back of his hand to brush away another tear, swallowing back his nerves even more to keep from getting sick.

“You doubt his love for you?”

“No.” That was one of the things he didn’t doubt. “But I’ll do something or say something. I’ve done it before after all.” Numerous times if he were honest with himself.

“Oh, I’m not sure that would work in this case,” Rogers stated with a quiet chuckle. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he continued. “Your words may sting him, hurt him even, push him away at times, I’m certain. It is important to remember, however, he is a being who has existed long before our time, watching over humans and our behaviors. He likely has seen this many times before, and while he may not understand everything behind it, he does know you, Dean. And he has shown, has he not, his ability to forgive?”

So many times over, Dean wanted to say. The words wouldn’t come, though.

“However, I must applaud you.” When green met the kind eyes, Mr. Rogers smiled warmly. “For the courage it takes to reveal this. Thank you, Dean.”

He nodded jerkily, unsure why the ghost was thanking him or why he felt grateful that the ghost was. Maybe it was that someone recognized how hard this was for him.

“That said, we must not hurt others when we find ourselves hurting or scared. We only continue the cycle, causing it never to end. Instead, when we find ourselves in these times, sad and afraid, we must stop, pause, and take a breath. I’ve learned taking a breath sometimes is all that is needed.”

“Yeah.” He was trying that method more as time passed. And it helped. Sorta.

“That said, there’s something else I think you are forgetting, Dean.”

“What?”

Mr. Rogers smiled, his eyes twinkling in the soft light. “From what I’ve gathered from my talks with him over the years, an angel loves fiercely, loyally, wholeheartedly. And when an angel considers opening itself to the vulnerability that comes with humanity, it bases its decision on the big picture typically, as it does with all decisions it makes. In this instance, when it gives its heart to another, it does so for eternity and has to keep that in mind. There would be no other but the one the angel loves.”

Dean’s eyes snapped to the cardigan-wearing ghost.

“Cas told you this?” His breath caught in the back of his throat. If what Rogers was saying was true, then—

“Yes. Long ago. When he was finding himself more and more confused by his puzzling feelings. You see, they feel them. Deeper than we do, I believe. They just don’t understand them. They’ve been taught that to display them, to feel them, clouds one’s judgement, rationality. That it is a weakness on humanity’s part. So, they suppress it.” He smiled warmly. “However, the more time he spent with you, he questioned that thinking. He felt as if feeling things as a human helped him more than the hindrance it was claimed to be by his superiors. He had admitted to me he often wondered if that was why he was believed to be broken by his kind. His ability to feel things without losing his angelic self that was.”

Thoughts raced through Dean’s head. He had screwed this up so bad. Cas had chosen the one human who was so fucking broken that it’d break him in the end too. His eyes closed, and his head fell forward. He’d be the one who broke an angel.

“Dean?”

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and met Rogers’s.

“It’s important you remember this.”

“What?”

What was he supposed to remember? For a minute, irrational that it was, he considered grabbing to get a pad and paper to jot it down so he’d never forget whatever sage advice he was about to hear. He, after all, clearly needed all the help he could get, considering what an emotional wreck he was even on a good day. And who better than Mr. Rogers to give it to him?

“Castiel chooses to be by your side. He chooses to love you.”

“I know that.” And Dean would never forget it either. Though, he honestly didn’t understand it. What the hell did that angel see in him exactly?

“So, he knows you’re going to push him away. How you will likely react in certain instances, and he chooses to remain with you despite this.”

Green eyes fell to the bench guiltily. Except that one time that was. But he had been a real big asshole to Cas so it was justified. He couldn’t deny that.

“What he may not know, however, is that when someone pushes you away, it typically means that person wants the opposite. I would imagine the someone in this instance is similar to you.”

Dean felt a smirk tug at the corner of his lips as he recalled the few times Cas had questioned him about the whole ‘It’s fine’ line when things were sorely not fine at all. It had taken years for the angel to figure that out.

“Yeah. I suppose you’d be right about that.”

He glanced at Sammy when his big moose of a brother moved again. He shook his head when he caught the hazel eyes. Sam looked anxious as ever like a little kid being made to sit still for too long. It was probably killing the big oaf not being able to say anything with Rogers giving his advice.

“So, what you’re saying is Cas, um, he knows I’m going to be a dick sometimes. He may not know why I am, but he knows I have a history of it. And keeping in mind that whole ‘Angels look at the big picture’ stuff, he still decided to be with me, to choose to love me. Even though he knows I’m going to be a lot of work and stuff, that is.”

“I’m not certain ‘work’ is the right way of phrasing it, but he knows it won’t be easy. For you or him. And yet he’s still there. That says a lot about his character, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, feeling his insides loosen entirely from their emotional knots. “Yeah it does.” Like how it made his number one fear, the one plaguing him forever, seem absurd now. He was always waiting for Cas to leave when the angel had never truly left his side ever, except that one time. And with every action throughout their years together as friends and now as whatever they were, the angel had continuously proved again and again that Dean was worthy of him in his eyes, that Dean deserved to be saved, to be loved, to have everything he had ever wanted and always assumed he’d never get. Dean just had to open his damn eyes to see it.

He huffed another laugh and shook his head. “I became Dad in a way, didn’t I, Sammy? Focused solely on Hunting? Ignoring those around who loved me? Abandoning them at times?”

“You didn’t ignore us, Dean. Or abandon us.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t feel like fighting anymore, though. There had been too much fighting lately. Way too much, and it was mostly his fault he knew. “I’ve been so worried about losing him again. Even now with this whole him being sick in the Bunker and us out here thing, I’ve been so focused on that when I should have just trusted you. You said Gabriel has it. Gabriel himself even said it and told me he’d tell us if he got worse.” He glanced at Sam. “And you’re right. He hasn’t done a thing to make us doubt it, make me doubt his word. But I was—” His voice cut out unexpectedly as he found his mind unraveling this part of himself that rarely was looked at even.

So why didn’t he trust Gabriel?

It wasn’t as if the archangel had made any threats to the seraph. In fact, Gabriel and Cas were almost inseparable sometimes, reminding Dean of him and Sam. The angelic brothers had missed one another greatly it had seemed . . . and loved one another as siblings did. So, what was it then?

He frowned as he thought back on their interactions. Gabriel was his usual self most times, which irritated Dean sometimes. But it wasn’t anything really major that caused his outbursts. It was just moments when he’d get so exasperated with the archangel because Gabriel would do—he didn’t know—something.

His mind dove further into the moments, trying to figure out what it was while brushing past the mental barriers he usually stayed behind out of necessity. Gabriel would tease Cas or he’d make some comment, and there would be Dean, ready to defend the angel to the death regardless of the fact that it was only Gabriel.

“Need help?” Sam asked with a faint smile tugging at his lips after the silence became almost intolerable.

Dean shook his head, though. No. He could figure this out. He just had to look at it actually for once. Though, a part of him did wonder what sorts of skeletons he’d find in his closet. Once upon a time, there had been too many to count. No. He had to focus. He needed to figure this out. It was important. He knew it was. It had to be.

So, what was it about the sandy-haired archangel that rubbed him the wrong way?

A memory from before they had left the bunker flickered behind his eyes a second later.

It hit him harder than anything else had before.

“I love him, Sam.” Emerald eyes then glanced to the ghost briefly before he turned back. “I love Cas.” And while he himself knew this, he found himself realizing he was becoming almost possessive of the angel, jealous when others were around. Most of all Gabriel. Because as the archangel had mentioned several times before, just thirty or forty minutes ago in fact, he was Castiel’s brother first. Before Dean had ever entered into the equation. And the thought that plagued the green-eyed Hunter reared with life once more. Cas would leave, return to Heaven, to his family, and leave Dean behind. The thing he was most afraid was of Cas not choosing him any longer. It’d be worse than death.

“I know you do, Dean.” Sam gave him a wide grin with a soft chuckle, unaware of his brother’s inner turmoil at his realization. “Everyone does.”

Wasn’t that the truth, though? So many had teased over the years. Meg. Crowley. Balthazar. Lucifer even. To name a few. Hell, Chuck himself even showed he knew. Though, that could have been solely a Zachariah construct. Maybe. He doubted it, though. It was too elaborate for that asshole.

Dean felt his heart wrench as the words flowed out of him. “With this whole Chuck thing, I—well, I kept thinking how he’d use it against me. How he’d do something to ruin Cas and me, our friendship and stuff. Turns out Chuck didn’t need to do a damn thing. I would instead.”

“You fixed it, though.”

“I know that, but I about fucked it up again.” He then winced, glancing at the ghost. “Sorry, Mr. Rogers.” The ghost only chuckled, though, and smiled softly. “I can’t hover over Cas like this. I can’t rely solely on him for my own happiness either. Like, eventually, I have to break this co-dependency crap I’ve got going on with him.” He then sighed again. “And you, Sam.”

“That’s very wise of you, Dean.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged slightly. “Don’t ask me how I’m going to go about doing that, though. I haven’t a clue. I just know that this—this ain’t healthy.” He then quietly added, “For anyone.”

“I’ve always found asking for help is usually a good first step. It’s better to go through anything with a friend at your side, I believe, than to go through anything alone,” Mr. Rogers replied kindly.

How many times had Dean done that, though? Went through something alone because he thought it’d be easier that way? He scoffed and shook his head, as his mind supplied how spectacular those moments always went as it blew up in his face. Hadn’t he said once before they were all just better together? And they were, weren’t they? They had overcome so much together. They could do this together too.

The elephant lifted off his chest suddenly. He drew in a breath, deep and even. The cool air rushed into his lungs as he considered everything he had said. His mind spun from it all. But he felt lighter, freer. The smile, warm and amused, tugged at his lips before he met the eyes in the rearview mirror who watched him with the usual non-judgmental look he had known so well.

“Now, do Sammy next, will you, Mr. Rogers?” the green-eyed Hunter joked, chuckling when he heard his brother’s scoff beside him. He shifted Baby back into Drive and eased her back out onto the road. “Help him with his whole bitchiness he gets sometimes.”

“You’re an idiot, Dean.”

The kind voice from the backseat spoke up, regaining the brothers’ attentions. “Sam, name calling will get us nowhere, I’m afraid.”

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean’s grin widened childishly.

“Your brother just shared something very difficult with us. Something, I believe, he just now realized in that moment. He has taken a very big step, so we should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Sam argued with a frown. “But I’m not—”

“A whiny brat sometimes?” offered the older Winchester, biting his tongue to keep from chuckling. Damn, he should have talked to Rogers long ago. The man was a miracle worker. He hadn’t felt like this in—well, ever.

He knew he was far from healed, but he felt the sun on his face finally. Everything they had suffered. Everything they had lost. All of it was just . . . less now. He loved Cas, his dorky angel who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, pieced him back together time after time. He loved him. And he didn’t give a rat’s shit who knew that anymore. He couldn’t just stop living because of the what-ifs. He couldn’t. They’d go through some crap, sure, but that was life. Their life. With Cas, he wouldn’t be alone. Not when the Seraph always made it a point to show him his worth, his value, and ultimately how much he was loved. Cas was his big win. Always.

“Dean,” remarked Mr. Rogers quietly, regaining his attention. The man seemed disappointed almost in the Hunter’s actions.

Green eyes fell onto the dashboard silently.

“You know what?” Sam scoffed. “I’m sick of you thinking that. I’m not whiny or a brat or half of the crap you think I am.”

Dean glanced beside him at the shaggy-haired man.

“I’m your brother,” he declared, meeting the surprised bright green orbs. “I used to hate telling people that. Not because I was ashamed of you or anything. Because I wasn’t. You were my cool, big brother, and I was just this nerdy, snot-nosed kid.” Sam paused for a moment, his lips pursing. “You never gave up on me, though. Not once. You may have wanted to sometimes, wanted to cut me out of your life so you could actually have one, but you loved me. And you showed it every damn day, Dean.”

“Sam,” murmured the green-eyed man, his good mood slipping slightly at his brother’s heartbreaking confessions.

“No. Let me finish. Please.” He forced a thin smile when Dean nodded jerkily at him to continue. “Thanks.” He then closed his eyes, his scarred hand curling into a fist at his side. A second later, he unclenched and returned to meeting his brother’s look. “I know that sometimes I come off a little . . . emotional or whatever. And that I drive you insane sometimes too. But I don’t mean to. I don’t.” He waved off Dean’s words when his brother opened his mouth to speak. “No. Don’t. Just let me finish.” He sighed again, his frown deepening. “I grew up watching you, Dean. Watching my big brother put me first for almost everything in his life, even when that meant it was before his own life. I never thought I could measure up to that. Just like you thought you could never measure up to Dad. But we’re not Dad, Dean, and I’m not you.” He glanced down slightly. “And I’m okay with that, I think, because we’re not the same people we were once. We’re different now. Everything Chuck’s thrown our way. All that has happened. It has made us different people.” He paused again, scratching at his scruff before he sighed quietly. “You told me earlier you’d be okay if Gabe and I started something.”

“And I would be,” Dean interrupted, giving what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “If I can be with an angel like Cas, then go for it, Sammy. Go get your angel. Get your happy ending. That’s all I ever wanted with you after all. You being happy.”

How cheesy was that, though? But it was true. All Dean wanted was for his brother to be safe and happy. That was it.

“But that’s just it.” Sam huffed a laugh. “I think I’d only be doing it because you have Cas, Dean. Not because I like Gabe like that. I mean, Gabe and I get along well, sure, and we’re sort of friends, I guess, but I’m not really, you know.” He gestured with his hand vaguely.

“In love with an angel?” offered the older brother.

“We have shared trauma. That’s it. And he makes me laugh, sure, but . . .” His voice trailed into silence as his hazel eyes stared off deep in thought for a few moments.

Dean watched his younger brother silently, glancing back in the rearview at Mr. Rogers every now and then. The ghost didn’t seem worried. In fact, the cardigan-wearing specter seemed to be waiting patiently for Sam to continue, as if all was well. The green-eyed Winchester wasn’t quite sure of that, though.

“Sammy?” he said hesitantly after a few more minutes had ticked by in complete silence.

“Yeah?”

“You okay? Cause you just sort of stopped talking all of a sudden.” Dean’s eyes narrowed when he heard his brother’s quiet chuckle. “Sam?”

“Yeah. I’m good, man.” The younger Winchester laughed a little louder, shaking his head before he ran a hand through his long locks. “I just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

For a brief second, Dean felt his gut clench in preparation for the worst. He, however, relaxed quickly, knowing that whatever fears his mind supplied right then couldn’t be real. They were only manifestations of his anxiety. His eyes then narrowed in confusion. Wait! What? Where the hell did that come from? Clearly, he had spent too much time around Cas and Sam.

“Why Balthazar was wanting us to talk to Mr. Rogers.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, to get over our emotional shit we don’t deal with ever. I know.”

“No, Dean. That’s not it. I mean, it’s probably a part of it, but it’s not the big thing here.”

“Okay,” he drawled. “Care to explain with the rest of the class? Cause I’m not following.”

“Jack brought him back, right?”

“Right. Still not sure how the kid does it with just a freakin’ book, but go on.”

“Balthazar has been in the Empty for nine years.”

“Yeah. I suppose that’s about right. Where are you going with this?”

“Nine years in the Empty, Dean. And the first thing he does is go to Mr. Rogers and sneak him out of Heaven? For us? The people responsible for his ending up there in the first place?”

The green-eyed Hunter shrugged. “Doesn’t make sense. I agree, but so what? Half the things in our life don’t. We can’t stop to question all of it now.”

“Dean, this wasn’t for us.” Sam then slightly turned in his seat. “Was it, Mr. Rogers? I mean, some of it was. The overall ‘Get us to talk about things we don’t talk about’ but that was just because he didn’t want to admit the real reason he was sending you to us. Right?”

“The real reason? What are you going on about?”

Dean was thoroughly confused now. Was Sammy saying that there had been no real reason for his confessing things as he had? That it had all been for show or—

“We certainly have a lifetime full of emotional baggage we haven’t even attempted to deal with, sure,” Sam explained, “which he probably assumed, but he was just thrown back into life after nine years of nothingness. A death we caused by asking him to betray his brother. He wasn’t doing this for our benefit. He wanted to—I don’t know—get back at us for the pain we caused.”

“Oh, I’m not certain about that, Sam,” replied Mr. Rogers with a faint smile.

“Then what?”

“You seem to think he harbors ill-will towards you two. I saw none of that in him when he spoke with me.” Mr. Rogers held his head up a little higher as he glanced between both men. “He knew his actions with Castiel could ultimately end in his death if Castiel learned of his betrayal, and he still chose to seek out his brother. Not for either of you he freely admitted, but for his brother.”

“So, then, this was for Cas?”

“No, Dean.” The ghost smiled faintly.

The Hunter threw up his hands exasperatedly. “Then, what the fuck?” He quickly grabbed the wheel again, noticing a slight curve up ahead. “Someone just explain it, will you?” He was so beyond their current game of twenty stupid questions.

“He knows his brothers care very deeply for both of you. And just looking at you, I can tell both of you are under extreme amounts of stress and are in constant pain, which you ignore frequently.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Not like we can fit in a lot of time between apocalypses to get in our daily therapy crap. We have to shove it aside to deal with it later. Do the job in other words. So we do. We do the job.”

“Forgive me, but wasn’t that what your father did?” Mr. Rogers pointed out quietly.

Dean opened his mouth to argue, only to close it a second later. It was, though, wasn’t it? It was _exactly_ what John did. They had both become their father in some ways after both secretly promising they never would.

How strange.

Swallowing back his feelings, the green-eyed Hunter shook his head in defeat. Now it was out there, floating about them like bad air. But it didn’t have to be, though, did it? After all, wasn’t knowing the problem half the battle? At least that was what Sam always said.

“Yeah,” concurred the oldest Winchester, squaring his jaw slightly as he stared with a frown. “You’re right. It was what John did.” He felt Sam’s eyes on him, but he didn’t elaborate any further. He just continued driving, thinking on things. On how they could have done things differently over the years. One change here could have done so much good there.

He could have chosen to leave Sammy at Stanford, letting his brother have that normal life he so greatly desired. Going back even further, he could have run further than the brothers had in their youth once long ago. Maybe he could have taken Sam to Bobby’s house or something instead of some dumbass rundown hotel as they had. It’s not like Bobby hadn’t tried to be the father figure in their life they needed instead of the one they had. Both boys could have been kids for once, happy and crap, kids with better childhoods.

He could have told Sam how scared out of his mind he always was for his little brother, terrified someone would steal him away and leave Dean utterly alone again. He could have told Cas how much he cared for him, needed him like the air he breathed sometimes. He could have done so many things differently, and it would have all been changed from their current path.

Licking his lips gradually, Dean drew in an even breath. “But we still can fix it. It’s not totally hopeless after all. If there’s one thing this life has taught me, it’s that.”

“Oh, my.” Mr. Rogers chuckled softly behind them.

Dean met his eyes in the rearview again, noting the spectre’s proud look.

“What?” he and Sam both asked with narrowed eyes.

“You make each day a special day,” murmured in the backseat the kind ghost of the children’s tv show, his usual love wrapping around them warmly. “You know how?”

Dean felt his gut contract sharply as he recognized the man’s words. It was how the man had signed off for years.

“By just being you,” Mr. Rogers answered with another amused chuckle. “There’s only one person in this whole world like you. And that’s you.”

Beside him, Dean heard his brother’s shaky breaths, knowing Sammy was having just as much difficulty keeping it together as he was.

“And I like you exactly as you are.”

Broken and shattered, the Winchester brothers may be. Their tattered souls sewn back together by Angelic Grace. But, still, they were not hopeless. Never truly hopeless.

Bright green eyes watched the red-cardigan-wearing-ghost with gentle bluish-hazel eyes in the rearview slowly fade. For a moment, Dean considered pulling over to stop Mr. Rogers’s leaving. But it was over, wasn’t it? Their time with him was done.

“Until next time, boys. Bye-bye!”

Bright, brilliant white light filled the Impala for a second before it vanished all together, moving upwards to the Heavens. Mr. Rogers was returning home. And so would they.


End file.
